Yellow Summer has begun in the Aegean. September and October are known as the Yellow Summer here, and to me, they are the most beautiful times of the year. The sea is still warm, but the waves have slowed. Walking along the beach in the morning, you come across only a few people. The old crowds, the laughter, the beach shouts, the children’s voices, the sunbed rush—all are gone. There is only the wind, only the seagulls. The air carries a faint scent of seaweed mixed with iodine. The sky is softer, painted in pastel tones. Even the sun shines differently; it does not rush, as if time itself has slowed down.
The raki-and-fish dinners we shared all summer replay before my eyes like a film reel. Carefree laughter, dancing in the moonlight, endless conversations with friends, us stretched out on the sand at midnight, the stars above us. Sometimes we grew close in just one night, sometimes we rediscovered old friends.
How real it all was. How quickly it all slipped away. Yet, I catch myself thinking: there was so much more to experience. I regret all the moments we put off—“We’ll go later. We will do it next week. Another weekend.” Now I know: there is no going back. In addition, truly, there is no past; everything only ever existed in the moment.
I no longer feel the need to make plans for the future. Because I know, the future is an illusion. The best way forward is simply to say, “We’ll see.” Moreover, of course, to return to the present.
The town is quiet now. The summerhouses are closed, the cafés, beaches, and markets are empty. Most people have gone back to the city. Schools have opened. Only a few friends, a few familiar faces, and I remain. Therefore, I talk to myself.
In this silence, one question keeps circling in my mind: Why does everything beautiful pass so quickly? In addition, are we truly living these moments to the fullest?
Our phones never stopped buzzing this summer—notifications, messages, stories, plans. Plenty of sea, sun, and boat trips. Everyone was everywhere, yet somehow never really with us. Technology seemed to hold us captive. We clung to our phones as if they were part of our bodies. Ten people could be sitting at a table, yet each was wandering in a different world. We were all together and yet very far apart. Sharing a moment, we drifted away from the moment itself. Does that sound familiar to you?
Summers were different in my childhood and youth. Time dragged; the days stretched endlessly, and we thought we might burst from boredom. Glances lingered longer—it felt like living in a Yeşilçam film. A single coffee chat could last for hours. No one stopped a meal to take a photo. We lived memories instead of recording them. Now we miss life’s subtle details—unable to feel fully, unable to savor completely. Then we ask ourselves: Why am I so lonely?
Perhaps September—this Yellow Summer—exists for precisely this reason: to remind us to slow down. To drop whatever we are holding when a moment arrives, so we can truly look, truly listen, truly feel, and truly embrace. To remember what we have lost and to reflect on how to move forward with what remains.
Maybe the silence of Yellow Summer is an invitation—an invitation to ask ourselves, what do I really want? A time to find our own rhythm without being swept away by life is relentless pace. Yellow Summer may not be an ending; it may be the gentlest, most honest herald of a new beginning. Moreover, perhaps the most beautiful stories are still waiting to be written.
In addition, you—what about you? What did this summer leave behind for you? Whose eyes did you truly look into when you put your phone down? Which conversation did you fully engage in? Moreover, which memories will you carry with you into the new season?
Remember: the past is gone. Now is the time—savor the moment.
Kamil Çakır
Artist – Designer
